


Without Remourse

by Sephielya_J_Maxwell



Series: Johanson Household [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Caning, M/M, Spanking, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephielya_J_Maxwell/pseuds/Sephielya_J_Maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An original Victorian era piece. Two male servants balance their duties, social morality, and their secretive relationship with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Remourse

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after 'Provocation', but was written before it.

     It was mid-afternoon in the Johanson household. Mr. Johanson had just left, headed out on ‘business’, which usually meant that he was going to meet with a few of his friends in a place his wife might not approve of. Mrs. Johanson, on the other hand, had been called on by a close friend of hers. With both of them out of the villa, responsibility of the household fell to the butler, Roland Gladwell. At the impressive height of 6’2’’ and a body well-toned by his years as a footman, it only took a firm stare from his narrowed, ice-blue eyes to convince most anyone to behave. Roland was well dressed at all times in full gentleman’s attire; tailored trousers, a well-fitted waistcoat over an immaculate white shirt, cravat around his neck, a plain, dark tailcoat, and self-polished leather shoes. His long, ink-black hair was washed every night, and tied with a dark blue ribbon at the nape of his neck. An old pocket watch completed his uniform, as his most important job was keeping the household running smoothly, and on time.

 

Though the number of servants employed under him had dwindled over the last few years, Roland remained a dedicated member of the staff. The Johansons had been good to him from the day that he had been hired on as a pageboy, to when he had become a footman, and above all the day that Roland’s predecessor had passed away. At the age of 23, Roland had taken over the late Mr. Hatfield’s responsibilities. Seven years later, at the age of 30, he had grown into a rather exceptional butler. He held the master and madam’s full trust, and had become something of a confidant to Mrs. Johanson. He was a man of integrity and punctuality, easily earning the respect of those working under him. But above all, Roland was humble. A man of modest lineage, he wasn’t above getting his hands dirty for work. If a member of staff was ill, or they had recently been let go and there was no one free to fill in for them, he would take on the task himself. That said; Roland was _far_ from a pushover. Part of the reason that the staff minded him so well was due to the fact that it was also Roland’s job to be held personally accountable for their conduct.

 

Which was precisely why, at this very moment, Roland was headed for the nursery on the second floor, cane in hand, his expression grim. Naturally, it wasn’t the children that he was after, as the responsibility of _their_ discipline relied on the nanny. Following along behind him, a young maid by the name of Grace wrung her hands into her apron. Though she didn’t speak a word, he knew that she was concerned. She fancied the so-called nanny of the Johanson’s three children, and though it might seem cold, that was why he chose her. Reaching the top of the stairs, the loud laughter of a young boy could be clearly heard from down the hall. It was followed by the stern but gentle hushing of an older male voice, though it did little to stifle the joyous boy that he was scolding. Roland steeled his expression as he headed down the hall, Grace padding along behind him. When he reached the old wooden door, he lifted his hand to knock twice. All voices from within the room fell silent as he turned the handle, opening the door.

 

The boys sat in a semi-circle on the floor, two of them suddenly quite invested on what was in front of them. Little Grahm, age 7, sat cross-legged with a book in his lap. His chubby cheeks were still somewhat flushed, giving him away as the one who had been laughing just moments before. Jeffery, age 5, glanced up from the colored wooden blocks in front of him. Last of all was Simon, age 2, who sat in the lap of his nanny, the saliva-covered paw of a hand-sewn toy dog in his mouth. Each of the young boys shared the dark brown hair of their father, and while Grahm and Simon’s eyes were blue like their mother’s, Jeffery’s were gray. Last of all, their nanny gained the courage to turn his eyes towards the open door.

 

     Warren Sutton was a young man of 23, and he was considered short by the standards of the profession of footman that he had aspired for. At 5’8’’, he was of more slender build than Roland, though his own body also showed the results of hard work from a young age. His short and curled blond hair held an almost strawberry sheen in the right light, and his green eyes never failed to appear troubled. Arriving at the Johanson household at the age of 14, the former pageboy had been made to change his position in the household by 17. The unexpected pregnancy of Johanson’s former nanny had been quite the inside scandal, and her immediate dismissal had left the 2 year old Grahm and newborn Jeffery without practiced care. Warren, the oldest of his own family’s six children, just so happened to be quite experienced in childcare. What began as a temporary solution soon became more permanent. Though he had been embarrassed at his apparent demotion, Warren had faithfully spent his early nights reading heavily on the subjects that he would soon begin to teach his new charges. By now he was quite invested in his job, even as out of place as he felt when taking the children out of the house for a walk, or coming along to a family outing to handle the children. Presently, he licked his lips swiftly.

 

“I’m sorry, were we being too,” Warren paused as Roland stepped into the room, opening the door further to reveal the maid behind him. His eyes dropped to the butler’s left hand, widening a little at the sight of the rattan cane that he held. Grahm spotted it too, and he gave a sudden shout of surprise. Before Warren could shush him, the boy raised his voice.

 

“Is Warry in trouble?” Grahm asked as he clutched his book. Without answering, Roland glanced to Grace, giving a nod of his head. The maid forced a smile, approaching the children and their troubled nanny as she released her hold on her apron.

 

“Don’t you worry about Sutton, Master Grahm.” She said kindly as she knelt down, holding her arms out towards the nanny. Warren smiled as well, rubbing Simon’s back for a moment before he handed him over. Simon began to whimper at once, dropping his stuffed dog and reaching out for Warren.

 

“No, it’s not fair!” Grahm still protested, closing his book and tossing it away from him. “I won’t study without Warry!” He whined. Warren frowned a little, picking up Simon’s toy as he tried to soothe both children.

 

“Master Grahm, Master Simon, I’ll be back in only a moment! I promise, alright?” He offered the toy to Simon, whose face was becoming red as his eyes welled up with tears. He smacked at the stuffed object, and Grace took it up instead. Leaning forward, Warren placed a kiss on top of Simon’s head. Grahm kicked his feet, knocking over some of the blocks that Jeffery had been playing with. The middle child only sat up straight, picking up a blue block and pulling back his arm. “Master Jeffery, _no_!” Warren scolded, snatching the block away before it could be thrown. “We do not throw things at our brothers, remember? Good boys keep their hands to themselves.” He waved a finger as he spoke. Jeffery only crossed his arms, giving his nanny the best frown that he could muster. Switching his gaze to Grahm, he continued in the same firm tone. “And you; do behave yourself for Grace, or you will be the one in trouble.”

 

“But he’s going to,” Grahm’s hand shot out to point towards the door.

 

“I _know_ what he’s going to do, Master Grahm. What have I told you before, about accepting a punishment?” Warren asked, lifting one blond brow. Grahm huffed, crossing his arms much like his brother Jeffery. “Hm?” The nanny prompted after a moment of silence.

 

“It makes you better—but it was my fault!” The boy gushed without a pause. Roland cleared his throat, drawing Warren’s attention. The butler patted his coat pocket, within which was his watch. Warren stood up, brushing off his trousers with a sigh.

 

“We can talk about this when I return. Besides, Mr. Gladwell is my friend. I’m sure that he’ll go easy on me.” Warren hated to lie to the children, but the last thing that he wanted was for Grahm to feel guilty over this. Grahm only turned wary eyes to the impossibly tall butler in the doorway, obviously doubting the truth of that statement. Simon had begun to cry in full now, no matter how hard that Grace worked to shush him. “Read to them, will you Grace?” He asked as he smiled down to her, already making his way towards the door. The young girl nodded her head, returning his smile with a blush on her freckled cheeks. Once Warren reached the door, he passed by Roland without a second glance. The butler responded by closing the door, turning to face the nanny’s back.

 

“We’ll head to my study. No one will be upstairs at this hour.” Roland instructed, receiving a nod from the younger man. They walked without a word, both of them tense in their own right. Ascending the stairs to the third, smaller level of the villa, they headed towards the back of the hall. On the right were the male servant’s quarters, and on the left the females. Though Warren usually slept in the children’s rooms now, his bed had once been in that cramped room, with hardly enough space for the four beds in it. It wasn’t as if the servants had many belongings to begin with, but there was simply no privacy at all. On the other hand, Roland’s room was almost as large as the master’s bedroom. Half of it had been converted into a study, separated by a wall that Roland had built himself over the years, with his own funds and what little free time he had. The more responsibility that he took over, the more space that he needed to keep it all in order. There was a fireplace against the back wall, currently spotless, as the nights hadn’t yet grown cold enough to need it. The male servants had lost their room’s small wooden stove as a heater, after one of them had allowed his blanket to catch fire. Luckily for Warren, the children’s rooms were kept quite warm.

 

Not remarkable by any sense, Roland’s study was made up of the house’s old castoffs. An old writing desk in the corner with several locked drawers, a few trunks, half-burned candles on a shelf, a small rack of wine, and a few bookshelves. There was also a round wooden table nearest the middle of the room. It was dented and scratched, but polished as well as it could be. Two chairs sat beside it, even though Roland never had any company on his short breaks here. Closing the door behind them, Roland headed over to it, taking hold of the small, chipped, china vase which sat in the middle of the table. In it were a few mostly dried orchids which swayed as he lifted it, carrying it over to his desk to set down. Clearing his throat, the butler glanced over to the old clock on his mantle place.

 

“I presume you know why you are here, Sutton?” He asked as he lifted the cane, running his fingers over the length of it slowly. Warren fought not to let his straight expression slip, keeping his eyes on the table as he approached it, instead of on Roland.

 

“Grahm had an upset today at breakfast. I’d given him permission to sit at the table with his parents even though he’d had a rough morning.” Warren explained. Roland gave a nod, lifting one thin eyebrow.

 

“And why did the little master find his morning hard to handle?” The dark-haired man asked, and Warren turned his head to frown at the butler at last. “Amuse me.” Roland pressed.

 

“Because he didn’t sleep until I returned to his room some past midnight, and would only settle down once I’d read to him. Not that Mr. Johanson knows of that.” The nanny murmured, practically biting his tongue. Roland gave a subtle tilt of his head.

 

“One can’t help but wonder the reason for such unbecoming behavior.” The cane tapped against the butler’s left palm as he approached the table, hard-soled shoes clacking quietly on the dusty wooden floors.

 

“Oh yes, I _wonder._ ” Warren couldn’t keep the slight strain from his voice. “It matters not. I made an informed decision, and I don’t regret it. If I had kept him with his brothers and myself for breakfast, this could have been avoided.” The nanny swallowed. “In that case, is this really necessary?”

 

“I’m afraid so, Sutton. You know that I can’t go against a direct order from Mr. Johanson. As the nanny and tutor for his children, he has very high expectations for you. He’s concerned that you might be lacking in discipline with his sons, and so he told me to remind you what a good lesson entails.” Roland stated flatly, giving a quick swish of the cane. Warren flinched, stepping back as the cane moved to tap the surface of the table. “Take down your trousers. I won’t risk the chance that a man as thorough as the master won’t check to assure that I’ve done my job properly. Whether he trusts me or not, who knows what mood he shall come home in.” With reluctant movements, Warren lowered his hands to undo the buttons of his trousers as told.

 

“You can give me your best, but I somehow doubt that I will learn my lesson.” The nanny stated as he pushed the fabric from his hips, followed by his drawers. As the tap of the cane had hinted, Warren bent over and placed his elbows onto the table, taking in a deep breath.

 

“So _cheeky,_ ” Roland remarked, as he watched Warren’s long shirt ride up and over the first smooth curves of the nanny’s bottom. It stopped a little under half-way, and the butler moved to correct this oversight. The tip of his cane pressed just under Warren’s right cheek, indenting that pale flesh ever so slightly as he drug it upwards slowly, lifting the shirt with it. Warren’s fingers curled against the smooth wood under them, dipping his head a little when a draft of cool air brushed against his skin as it was slowly exposed. Once the tip of Roland’s cane reached the top of one ample cheek, a quick flip sent the shirt up to fold at Warren’s lower back. The butler’s blue eyes watched intently as those flawless cheeks moved in response to Warren shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “And just why won’t you learn?” Roland asked, unable to hide his small smile as he tore his gaze away from that all too tempting sight. It was just as Warren glanced over his shoulder, his brows drawn in confusion.

 

“It’s simple. I’ll always make the choice to come to you. You could cane me until I bleed, and I would be in your room the very next night.” Warren exclaimed under his breath, and Roland felt his chest grow heavy. Stepping forward, he reached out to place his left hand over Warren’s on the table. Bending down to press his lips to the soft blond curls above Warren’s temple, he heard the nanny chuckle as the breath from his nose tickled the younger man’s scalp.

 

“Little fool. You should have left when I fell asleep.” Roland whispered in return, and he felt the younger man shudder underneath him.

 

“And miss the chance to stare at your calm expression as you lay at rest?” Warren stated, his face burning with the courage that it took to make such a confession. “Cane me, Mr. Gladwell.” The nanny urged quietly.

 

“Very well, then.” Roland gave Warren’s hand a small squeeze before he stood up straight, taking his position behind and to the left of the younger man. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sight; as he was used to seeing Warren’s naked skin by dim candlelight, and not in full daylight. Pale, well-shaped thighs, and a firm, yet delectably supple bottom. It was almost a shame to mar such perfection, and yet that was another thrill entirely. Lifting the cane, he tapped it against those soft cheeks, preparing his aim. “Ten good ones, Sutton. Count them.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Gladwe—” Warren’s breath hitched the moment that he felt the cane break contact, fighting every instinct to flinch. _Snap_! The sound of the cane striking his flesh was sharp, but the sting that cursed implement left behind was worse. A hot red welt blossomed within seconds, sending ripples of pain through his system. “One _._ ” He said firmly, focusing his gaze on the surface of the table. _Snap_! Warren’s body jolted as the cane landed for the second time, raising another puffy red line just under the first. “Two.” The nanny spoke clearly, though his throat felt tight. Three and four went much the same, each new strike of the cane adding to the tally of marks on his bottom. And with each number, Warren’s voice grew more strained, shoulders jerking in time with them. _Crack_! This time Warren fell forward; his chest resting on his forearms as his hips pressed tight against the table’s hard edge, one heel lifting from the floor. “ _Five._ ” He muttered through clenched teeth.

 

“Five more, Sutton. Legs straight, bottom out.” Roland chastised, glancing to the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. Warren nodded his head, lips parted for his quickened breath, hands clasped tightly together. Lifting to his elbows once more, the nanny slowly straightened his legs, though his thighs were quaking slightly. Of course the butler wouldn’t dream of holding back, not even for him. It just wouldn’t be fair; and Warren might have been insulted if he _did_ take it easy on him. Pulling his arm back, Roland brought the cane down with a sharp swish, followed by the loud _snap_ as it struck home. Warren’s body gave another jolt, shoulders lifting, his head bowing further.

 

“ _S-six._ ” The nanny murmured, swallowing hard. Roland watched him shift from foot to foot, the muscles of his thighs and backside flexing as he did so. Remarkably, he never flinched. Not even when strike seven came to leave another angry weal of flesh across the others, sending its shock of pain throughout the younger man’s body. “ _Seven_!” Warren gasped quickly, his breath heavy now, the knuckles of his hands white as they clasped together desperately. In the long seconds between each cutting strike, Warren felt the growing number of welts throb and sting, and his body had begun to shake with the effort that it took to stay still. He wanted to stand up, to hop around in a most undignified manner, or just to curl up and let these waves of pain wash over him until they lessened. Instead, he jerked forward under the next _snap_ of the cane. “ _Eiiight._ ” He groaned now, eyes stinging with tears. He cried out when another came just after, bending at the knees. “ _Nine, oh God._ ” He whispered.

 

“Take a moment.” Roland offered graciously, and he was glad to hear the nanny groan in relief. Warren stood up, reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt so that it didn’t fall to touch his aching welts. One glance to the taller man was all that it took for Roland to step in close, shifting the cane to the left hand so that the right could reach up. Roland’s fingers came to rest under Warren’s chin, his thumb wiping away the tears lingering at the corners of the nanny’s eyes.

 

“S-sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve felt your cane full strength _._ ” Warren murmured, the corners of his lips tilting upwards, even though the lower one trembled.

 

“Of course,” Roland replied, “You’re very good at your job. This was a single slip, but you were so determined to repeat your bad behavior, I had to make sure that you understood the sincerity of my request to be less whimsical about your limited time at night.”

 

“O-oh, I got your message alright.” Warren assured, even if it was half-hearted. He hadn’t been bluffing; he really would risk it again, just to watch the butler sleep a little while longer. Not any time soon, though, at least not until these welts had become a distant memory.

 

“Good. Now, move back into position.” Roland said gently. Warren’s brows drew close together, glancing up to the taller man’s blue eyes with a silent plea. Nevertheless, he gathered his courage, taking a deep breath and allowing the butler to step back. Still gripping his shirt with his right hand, Warren bent over the old wooden table once more. He rest his weight onto his left forearm, straightened his legs, and arched his back as to push his bottom out as best he could. Such perfect form! Even as ‘wounded’ as he was, the nanny was prepared to accept that last painful bite of the cane. Warren’s thighs shook as if he might fall at any moment, but he stood fast.

 

The cane slipped from Roland’s fingers to clatter onto the floor, and it was accompanied by a soft thud as the butler slipped to his knees behind the younger man. Warren opened his mouth in question just before he felt the strong hands which came to hold his hips still. Instead he released his shirt to cover his mouth, jolting from the shock that the sensation of warm, damp lips pressing against one of his nine welts. It hurt, as any touch was bound to do right now, but it was a much more pleasant ache. “ _Roland,_ ” Warren whimpered when he felt a hot, slick tongue bathe another particularly sore welt. Surely such an intimate act allowed the use of given names, and so the nanny repeated the name of his forbidden lover with heated breath, muffled by the already damp palm of his hand.

 

Roland didn’t respond to the impassioned call of his name, save for giving another slow lick across the welt. Warren’s hips were hot under his hands, and though he knew that pain had brought out that light sweat, he could change that now. The butler’s lips sealed over the middle of a welt, sucking at the raised skin gently, and prompting a sob of pleasure from the younger man. The salty taste of skin was pleasant on any regular day, but there was something about the heat, and the texture of freshly raised welts that was simply exceptional. Roland was careful not to leave any marks with his careful sucking, moving greedily from one welt to the next.

 

Warren had dissolved into whimpers, sharp gasps, and quiet groans as he laid his chest onto the table. He pressed his cheek against the cool surface, his thighs quaking even harder from the attentions that he was now receiving. His first contact with the strict butler had come not from a hand, but from a cane. It would always be something shared between them, as twisted as he knew it was. Warren’s gut no longer churned with guilt, however, and he wondered if Roland had ever felt any at all. Just as the nanny began to writhe under the bittersweet attentions of his lover, the butler was releasing him. Half relieved and half dismayed, Warren merely closed his eyes and panted, cheek stuck to the table with sweat.

 

Roland smiled as he wiped a stray strand of saliva from the corner of his mouth, pleased with the sight before him. Warren was a beautiful young man; dedicated, loyal, affectionate, and hardworking. The nanny loved the children that he looked after as if they were his brothers, and he adhered to Roland like a wife to her husband. It was such a shame that they could never take that step. Standing up, he rested his hand onto Warren’s lower back. “This _is_ a punishment, or did you forget?” He asked, playing with the hem of Warren’s shirt.

 

“F-for a moment, I did.” Warren murmured in reply, opening his green eyes slowly. His heart was racing and his body was overheated, stuck in the space between aching from the caning and the first stirrings of lust.

 

“More effective than a tenth stroke, don’t you agree?”

 

“Not that I wish to encourage you, but I must admit that I do.” Warren sighed, gathering himself back up onto his elbows. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes partially obscured by his stray bangs as he lifted his gaze to meet Roland’s. “I suppose you’re finished with me then, Mr. Gladwell?” He asked, brows furrowed and voice playfully remorseful. A sharp _smack_ of Roland’s palm striking one welted cheek was enough to provoke a gasp, and a bow of Warren’s head.

 

“Don’t get cheeky with me again, Sutton. What have you learned today?” The butler asked, stepping back and bending down to retrieve his dropped cane. Warren swallowed down any rebellious reply, especially now that the cane was back in Roland’s merciless hand.

 

“I will manage the children more effectively from now on.” The nanny rushed to answer, shoulders hunched and fingers curled. Roland gave a chuckle.

 

“Well played.” He praised, noting how Warren avoided saying that he wouldn’t stay late at night. The younger man _was_ bright, but that was precisely why he made so many mistakes. To this day, the nanny thought that he could find the loophole in every little rule. It went against everything that the fastidious butler believed in; and yet it did nothing to curb his desire for the more carefree youth. “I’m finished with you for now, then. Take a moment to compose yourself before you return to the children, but no longer than five minutes.” He inclined his head towards the mantle clock. Warren nodded as he stood up slowly, reaching back to brush a few welts with his fingers. He didn’t need to see them to know that they would bruise, and he wasn’t looking forward to sitting on them. Roland headed for his desk in the corner of the room, opening the top drawer and dropping the cane inside before he closed it again. Even as the nanny bent to pull up his trousers, the butler simply headed for the door.

 

“Mr. Gladwell?” Warren called, flinching as the fabric came to cover his abused bottom. Roland paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The blond hesitated, swallowing hard as he tucked his shirt into his pants. Licking his lips swiftly, he turned to face the taller man. “May I still visit you tonight?” With every second that the butler remained silent, Warren felt his chest grow tighter. Finally, Roland turned on his heel, approaching the nanny swiftly. Long fingers came to lift his chin, tilting his head up for the kiss that the butler bent to give. A press of soft, warm lips, Roland’s still swollen from his actions moments ago. Warren parted his own at the brief swipe of a tongue across his lower one, inviting it inside. The nanny closed his eyes, groaning as he felt the slick muscle slide against his own. Roland’s tongue brushed against the roof of his mouth in a teasing manner, though it was gone all too soon. He opened his eyes to meet the dilated blue eyes above his own, and he knew this was as far as they could go.

 

“As soon as you are sure that the children are asleep, you may come. But you must leave before I fall asleep. Understood?” The fingers under his chin turned into a gentle grip. As he couldn’t nod, Warren spoke up softly.

 

“Yes, Mr. Gladwell.” The nanny answered. Roland smiled then, giving the younger man one last, chaste kiss.

 

“Then I look forward to our meeting later tonight, Warren.” Roland’s voice lowered an octave, and he brushed his thumb over Warren’s lower lip. The nanny shuddered, replying with a bashful smile.

 

“As do I, Roland.” He murmured. Warren felt a keen loss as the butler released his chin, turning his back and heading for the door. Still, he would see him again tonight. If not for Roland, Warren believed he would have been fired a long while ago. At the same time, it was usually due to the butler that he got himself into trouble. Tonight he would behave, and leave at a reasonable time. No need to test the butler’s patience, after all. And though Warren hadn’t lied about what punishment that he could take and still return, he’d rather avoid that if he could. He would be lucky if these marks faded within a week. As the door closed, leaving him alone in the butler’s makeshift study, Warren sighed. Night couldn’t come fast enough.


End file.
